


A Box of Quarantine Bonbons

by fandomfan



Category: Black Sails, Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: COVID-19, Coronavirus, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Quarantine, social distancing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23161792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomfan/pseuds/fandomfan
Summary: A series of unconnected ficlets (each <500 words) in various fandoms, all themed around social distancing/quarantine.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton, Miranda Barlow/Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton, Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22





	1. Moving to the Country (Black Sails, Flinthamiltons)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my little attempt at a survey of my own fandom participation over the decades I've been a slash fan. In the 2020 time of COVID-19 induced self-isolation, I'm attempting to write a ficlet for each of the major fandoms I've been part of (even if I never wrote anything for them originally). Here goes...

The summer of 1705 brings with it both radical self-discovery for James and one of the more severe cholera outbreaks in recent memory for London. He continues to visit the Hamiltons’ townhouse near daily, but the streets and smells around his own rented rooms further East become increasingly objectionable as the weeks progress.

Miranda teases him relentlessly about his concern for propriety, and Thomas seems content to let James come and go as he pleases. Despite their _noblesse oblige_ attitude, however, James cannot bring himself to stay the night with them, no matter his growing disquiet about his health upon returning home.

Thomas is the one to suggest a solution one evening as James prepares to take his leave. “We should all go down to Buckstone until this cholera has passed.”

James has, of course, heard Thomas speak of his family’s country seat before, but he’s never seen it for himself.

“It was Miranda’s suggestion, actually,” Thomas continues sunnily. “Of course she’d be the one to find a resolution to our current little predicament.”

James rolls his eyes at Thomas referring to something as noisome as cholera as a ‘little predicament.’ “I hardly think a disease affecting hundreds of citizens is something so small as you think it, _my lord_.” He still thrills at how he has come to use Thomas’s honorific to tease. 

“Perhaps you mistake my intention,” Thomas says, unruffled. “I should clarify that not only is the country air much clearer, but that the staff at Buckstone have been with me for many years.”

“I should hope so, when you pay them such exorbitant wages,” James laughs, still not quite taking Thomas’s point.

Thomas smiles fondly. “I should think their compensation does indeed help foster their admirable degree of discretion.”

“Discretion?” James asks, and now he begins to see the turn of Thomas’s thought, the cleverness of Miranda’s plan.

“They are quite accustomed to paying rather less attention than one might expect to which bedrooms are occupied and which are not,” Thomas clarifies.

“I see,” James smiles. “How scandalous.”

“Quite,” says Thomas, and now his composed façade shows the crack of his grin. “A very restful place for a holiday away from the bad air of the city, I think you’ll agree.”

James laughs at this. “I don’t believe rest is much on your mind for this holiday,” he says.

Thomas looks him over, very slowly, from his polished boots to his neatly-tied queue. “No, perhaps _rest_ is not the proper word for it.”

“I shall pack my things accordingly,” James says. He raises one brow and touches two fingers to his head in a mockingly casual farewell salute.

Thomas chuffs a laugh and answers, “To be in accordance with the holiday I’ve in mind, James, you needn’t pack much at all.”


	2. nice fit, no belt (Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer RPF)

It’s three days into their self-isolation that Armie walks into the bedroom to find Timmy getting dressed, so far wearing only a pair of baggy, embellished jeans that look one tug away from falling right off his skinny body.

“If we’re going to be stuck inside for a while, Imma need you to get a belt.”

Timmy turns to look at him with a little frown. “Huh? Why?”

Armie smiles and brings them both over to face the full-length mirror. He’ll never stop getting off on how much bigger he is, standing behind Timmy, surrounding him. Like Timmy’s a protected enclave inside Armie’s territory.

“What do you see?” he asks, hands to himself for now.

“Uh, your huge-ass self lurking behind me,” Timmy tries.

“Interesting,” Armie answers. “Cause all I see is your hip bones poking out over those ridiculous pants.”

Timmy laughs. “These are next season’s Stella McCartney, you absolute yeti.”

“Are they now?” Armie rests his chin on Timmy’s bony shoulder. Turns his mouth to Timmy’s ear. “I didn’t notice. Cause, like I said, hip bones.” He slides his fingers around those hip bones, thumbs wrapping nearly all the way around to the middle of Timmy’s back. He doesn’t grip yet. Just rests his hands around Timmy’s tiny middle.

Timmy’s got that mischievous glint going that Armie always loves. “I dunno. Seems to me like you like my hip bones. Explain to me why I should get a belt, then?”

Now Armie gives a light squeeze, just to hear Timmy’s breath hitch, right on cue. “You should get a belt, because we’re supposed to stay inside, where there’s a limited supply of lube. But when you keep showing off your sexy fucking hip bones, I just wanna grab them–” he does “–and hold tight–” he grips hard “–and use them to keep you on my cock so you can’t squirm away.” He uses his grip to pull Timmy’s tight little ass back against his crotch, which is getting mighty interested in this conversation.

Damn, they look good in that mirror. There is, for sure, not a quarantine’s worth of lube in this apartment.

Timmy’s grinning now, and he tips his head back onto Armie’s shoulder. “Yeeeeah,” he purrs, rubbing his ass back against Armie’s dick. “A belt is really not gonna happen. Doesn’t go with the look I had in mind.”

Armie growls, just a little. Bites at the side of Timmy’s exposed neck, just a little. “And what look was that?”

Timmy shivers at all the biting and growling and gripping. “I was going for a ‘pants ripped off, fucked from behind in front of the mirror' aesthetic,” he smiles.

“You conniving little tease,” Armie laughs. “Let me help you with your styling.”

Timmy posts on Instagram later. It’s a grainy filter, and the photo’s dark, but Armie can make out the crumpled Stella McCartney jeans where they were hastily tossed across the bed. The caption reads “QUARANTINE: nice fit no belt 😜”.


End file.
